The Little Match Girl
by penspot
Summary: Based off of Hans Christian Anderson's story, this is the Little Match Girl with the Newsies. I know it's not Christmas yet, but it's nice. Kind of a Les/OC if you squint. Short story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a Newsie version of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. What if the Newsies knew her? The Little Match Girl belongs to Hans Christian Anderson, I'm just borrowing it for a moment. I know this isn't Christmas or even New Years, but this story can't wait that long.  
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New York winters were rather cold with a steady falling of snow, especially in the larger cities towards the ocean where snow blew in and veiled the green Lady Liberty from view. There were no snow days then and work had to continue. The chilly Monday morning filled with the shouts and calls of newsies pushing their papers.

The Manhattan newsies headed over to the printing station where David and Les Jacobs waited. 'Cowboy' Jack Kelly smirked and spit in his hand, holding it out. David smiled and did the same, taking Jack's hand and shaking it.

"What took you guys?"

"Race lost his cigar," Jack answered snidely, earning a punch from Racetrack. The boys melded into the line, chattering away when Les sneezed.

"Winter stinks," he complained and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

David smiled sympathetically and turned to the man behind the desk. "Uh, thirty papes please."

"Thirty papes for David!" the man called out.

Jack, who was leaning against the wall with a cigarette, pushed himself up straight. "Thirty papes Davey? You ain't gonna make money with that."

"Les isn't feeling good today."

"Perfect. Real sick can peddle better than fake sick."

David frowned at his friend and gave him his _are-you-serious_ look. "I want to get him home soon. I'll just sell a few and then get going."

Jack shrugged, placing a dime on the counter. "A hundred papes."

"Hundred papers for Cowboy!" the man called while handing David his papers. Davey thanked him and gave a few to Les.

"Don't wander too far, ok?" After the strike, David was more lax with his brother but he didn't want Les getting too far in case someone tried to corner him like what the incident with his brother, his sister Sarah and the Delancey brothers.

"Hey Davey," Jack called after him, "Blink asked me to help cover his corner. Don't get inta trouble ya hear?"

"Sure."

Les and David made their way out onto the snow blanketed streets and mingled in the crowd. Les, still within earshot of his brother, went to a corner where a man sat at a shoe polishing booth. Les smirked at how easy the job would be and went up to him after hiding the rest of his papers behind a wood crate.

Coughing slightly and looking tired, the boy handed out the paper. "Buy me last pape, Mister?"

The man looked down and seemed unsure of whether he was disgusted that a little street boy was talking to him or pity at the lad's "poor" state. The man sighed and took out a coin.

"Sure, kid."

Les traded the paper for the coin and bent his head. "Thanks, Mister." Then he ran off chuckling until he got to his hiding spot. What he saw made his stomach leap to his throat. His papers were strewn all over the place, soggy and smudged. A little girl stood over them, frowning. Her messy blonde hair was held back in a loose scarf and her feet were covered with worn, oversized slippers.

"Hey!" he cried and tried to save the remaining papers.

"Were these yours?" she asked in a heavy accent.

"Yeah they were mine," he answered hotly. "Why'd ya go and mess 'em up?"

"I thought zey were trash."

"Trash?" he asked outrage and waved the papers. "I can't sell these and I can't sell em back! David's going to kill me—ACHOO!"

"David?" she asked.

"My brother. Oh, what am I going to do?" I moaned.

"I am sorry. I did not know zey were your newspapers," said the girl.

Les looked at her and then back to the ruined papers. "Les?"

He turned and saw David coming. _Oh, great._ David came up. "Les, are you alright?"

"I'm fine—eh…eh… ACHOO! But my papes weren't so lucky," he groaned and showed his brother the ruined newspapers. Disappointment etched itself in David's face and then concern.

"You can pay me back later for em. Let's get you home." David pushed Les over a little and then noticed the little girl holding matches. "Who's your friend?"

"_She_ messed up my papers," supplied Les. The girl rubbed her thinly covered arms and started sniffling.

"Les, really?" David admonished.

"It's true!"

"I-I am sorry Mister," she apologized, her accent even thicker with the tears. "I-I wish I could pay for zem but I cannot and all I have are zese matchsticks."

"Hey, it's ok," David said softly, hoping to get her to stop crying. "Don't worry about it."

"David—"

"It's ok, Les. Let's get you home and into bed. I'm sure Mom will want to nurse you back to health," David said and spun Les' hat on his head. Les looked back at the girl who was smiling at them before she turned and started peddling her own wares, fully 'recovered' from her emotional state.

Les shook his head. _Man she's good__._

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A/N: Alright, tell me what you think. Good? Bad? Somewhere in between where nobody really cares? All of your comments deserve the submit button just below.**


	2. Chapter 2

David was able to go back to work, but Les was ordered to bed for a few days. By the time he was better, the two of them had almost forgotten the run in with the little girl on the corner. The newsies were meeting in one of their favorite places, Tibby's and Racetrack wasn't in the best of moods.

"I get a perfectly good cigar but no matches. I swear Snipeshooter, if I find youse been using my matches I'm gonna—"

"I didn't take your lousy matches," Snipshooter shot back.

"Aye, aye, aye, what's dis all about?" Jack walked between them.

"Hey Jack, you wouldn't happen ta have a match on yeh?" asked Race.

"No I don't."

Race frowned and plopped in his seat. "Where's Lucy when ya need her?"

"Who's Lucy?" asked David.

"A friend. Curly blonde hair, wears really large shoes and a scarf around her head. She roams around selling matches," said Jack.

"_Her_?" asked Les, though nobody knew who he was talking about. "We ran into her a few days ago. She messed up my newspapers," he said accusingly.

"Les," his brother admonished.

"You met little Lucy?" asked Crutchy.

"Her name is Lucy?"

"Well yeah. She's the little match seller of New York."

"The sweetest goil you'll ever meet," said Jack.

"She talked funny," Les muttered and took a sip of his drink.

"A'course she sounds different," Mush laughed. "She's one of dem immigrants. I tink she's from Spain—"

"Was the matter with youse?" Race slapped him upside the head. "She's from Italy."

Mush was about to hit back when Jack pushed him to the side and put a hand on Ractrack's shoulder.

"And Race here is practically her big brother."

"Am not."

"Race knows her the best," said Jack.

"How?" Les asked.

Race shrugged. "She was selling her matches by the racetrack one day. I was workin a hot deal, best horse of the lot, when she came up and asked if I needed a match," Race paused and put his cigar in his mouth, unlit. "She gave me this look with big puppy dog eyes. A'course I couldn't say no, but I could only afford one."

"Eh, she was happy for the penny anyway," said Blink, earning a swipe to the head.

"Who's tellin this story, huh?" asked Race pointing to himself before continuing. "And she left. Next day I found her on Wall Street selling more matches. So I bought another one and it's kept goin loike that ever since."

"Speak of the devil," said Blink and pointed outside the restaurant window. A little girl with messy fair hair and oversized shoes was selling her wares on the street in front of them.

"Great timing," Race smiled and jogged out of the restaurant. The other Newsies watched from inside as Race walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder, quickly stepping to the other side. Lucy turned and saw no one, frowned and turned the other way to be surprised by Racetrack.

She smirked and folded her arms. "What can I do for you Mister?" she asked, her voice so young and innocent, yet cocky.

"Well, I saw youse was sellin matches. Turns out I could sure use one," he answered waving his unused cigar in the air.

"Oh, it turns out zat I happen to have a few matches left," she said, playing along. "Ze finest matches in New York."

"The finest, eh? And how much would one of the finest matches in New York cost?"

Lucy giggled. "One penny."

Race smiled, reached into his pocket and pulled out an old penny, trading it with a match from her straw basket. Lucy looked at it and then gave him a suspicious look.

"You didn't take two did you?"

"Me?" he asked with mock offense, scraping the match against the restaurant wall and lighting his cigar. Releasing the smoke he looked down at her. "I would never do such a thing."

"Mhmm," she said, obviously not buying it. Race shrugged and raised his right hand.

"I promise on me mother's grave, I never took more than one match. Cross my heart and hope to lose a bet."

Lucy laughed, knowing full well that Race would never dream in his right mind hope to lose any kind of bet. He looked back at the window and saw the Newises watching.

"Hey, Lucy. How bout I get youse some lunch, my treat."

"I can't. I've got to sell the rest of zese matches." She shook the basket.

"Luce, they's can wait. You look loike ya haven't eaten in days. C'mon."

Lucy wasn't one to argue, and she didn't put up much of a front when Race started pulling her inside the restaurant. The door closed behind her and she saw all the newsie boys looking at her.

"Heya, guys," she whispered and waved shyly. The boys greeted her and then went back to their own business.

"Hey Tibby," Jack called. "A hotdog for our lovely guest!"

The owner and cook smiled kindly and Lucy and went to the back. Lucy sat at a chair face-to-face with Les.

"You?" she asked, recognizing him immediately as the boy who got mad at her about the newspapers in _her_ selling spot.

Les frowned and ate his hotdog, making her shift uncomfortably. She didn't want to be where she wasn't wanted.

"You're not still angry, are you?" she ventured, but Les didn't answer. He just sat there, pretending to be angry to cover his wild blushing. David smirked while Jack stifled his laughs. Though the poor boy hated to admit it, he was having his first crush just because she sat there, and she was the one he momentarily loathed for making him lose money the day before.

"So how's business?" Jack asked, saving Les' "manliness."

"You would figure zat people would want matches with zis winter, but no one will buy zem."

David frowned and looked at the other guys before reaching in his pocket and pulling a penny earned from that day. "I'll buy one."

Jack nodded and also pulled out two pennies. "Sure, I could use a couple." Taking the matches he turned to the other newies. "I know youse guys all need a few instead of borrowin my stash." The others laughed, knowing it to be true and all pulled out pennies until Lucy ran out of matches.

"There… there are no more," she sounded surprised and ecstatic. "Oh, Papa will be so pleased. Thank you, all of you."

"Your hotdog, Miss," said Tibby while sliding the plate in front of her. She beamed and dug in, sighing with content. Les looked up at her and smiled faintly, glad she was happy. _She's not that much of a pain,_ he thought and took another bite of his lunch.


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas Eve blew in with a flurry of snow, catching little Lucy by surprise. She had been working so hard for the past week; she had lost all count of the days to this one special night. Lucy roamed the city streets that evening, carrying her poorly thatched basket with matches. A harsh wind blew past her, scraping against her bare feet and through her thin shawl.

She shuddered and thought about home. Not the shack she stayed every other night in New York. No, her mind traveled to the winters in Italy where she used to stay in her grandmother's warm cottage. Those were the days.

Another foul wind blew against her thin frame and shook her bones with cold. _But there is no point in going back home_, she thought grimly. It was about just as cold there as it was outside and she remembered what awaited her back at the tenant housing.

_He pulled back and threw the matches at her. Quickly she scrambled and started picking up the matches and grabbed her mother's slippers._

"_OUT! OUT!" he bellowed and flung furniture throughout the room. "GET OUT YOU UNGRATEFUL BAMBINA!" he shouted furiously in Italian. All she had asked was what she got for Christmas. She knew she had given enough money to her papa for a doll that she saw in the window and she had dropped plenty of hints that she had wanted it._

_Unfortunately her father was a terrible drunk and all the money she had given him to be saved was immediately wasted on the bottle. He walked in the shack drunk and demanded food. The first flare up was when she said there wasn't anything to eat. This made him curse and throw himself on a wooden stool._

"_Papa?" she asked._

_He grunted in response. "Papa, I am sorry," she apologized in their language. He didn't respond. "I-I could go out and get food. Where is the money? I could get food and maybe… the doll that I wished for Christmas—"_

_He jumped up and started cursing aloud and began throwing things around. "OUT! OUT! GET OUT YOU UNGRATEFUL BAMBINA! MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL AND DO YOUR JOB! DON'T COME BACK UNTIL THOSE MATCHES ARE GONE!" he roared._

_Lucy fled, fearing that her papa would hurt her in his rage._

Lucy stopped by a lamppost and rubbed her numb feet. _Oh what I would do for shoes,_ she thought desperately. While running away, one of her mama's oversized shoes fell off somewhere and disappeared. The other had been ran off with by a cruel little boy.

Blowing warm air on her hands and rubbing them, red and blue feet marched on again down the snow covered street.

"Matches!" she called in English, then again in Italian. Back and forth she went, hoping anybody would need her services. A tall man in a fur coat passed by. Sticking her hand full of matches up at him, she asked with her heavy accent, "Matches for a penny."

The man just shook his head and pushed ahead past her. Her eyes sunk down to her feet when she heard bells ringing. Looking up, Lucy saw a family coming out of a store with a large goose. Her stomach immediately growled at the thought of a roast goose… with cranberries stuffed in it… and yams… and noodles… _Stop this,_ she yelled in her mind and ran off down the street and stopped under a nook, rocking back and forth to try and get warm.

_It's so cold. Maybe if I lit just one—_Lucy reached for the match and looked at it longingly. _No, I must sell these… but it's so cold… but…_ gathering up her nerve she struck the match against the brick wall and smiled as the flame rose to life. It was little warmth, but better than nothing. Her eyes sank as she imagined the warmth growing like it came from the stove back home.

As if by magic, the light grew brighter and the dark New York alley turned into a warm room with a large iron furnace with shiny brass feet and a brass ornament top. The warmth felt delightful and soon Lucy was sticking out her feet to warm them, but the match soon flickered dead and the stove was gone.

She rubbed another against the wall again and where the light was, a room appeared with a large table veiled with a snow-white cloth. Upon the table was a full porcelain dining set and a roast goose stuffed with apples and dried plums. The goose hopped up from its resting place and danced about toward Lucy with knife and fork in hand when… the match blew out again.

_Oh this is wonderful,_ she thought and lit another match. This time the light shined upon a giant Christmas tree lit with candles and decorated in popcorn. Underneath were presents stacked on top of each other, dressed in wrappings of blue, red, yellow, and green. The tree was better than the tree that showed off inside the merchant's store.

Once again the match went out, leaving Lucy again in the cold. Looking up, she saw that the clouds had moved and the stars were shining. A star fell from heaven, causing Lucy to feel pity. _Someone has died… and on Christmas Eve. What a way to go._ She remembered her grandmother telling her that when a star falls, a soul goes to God.

"Grandmother," she whispered and lit another match. The light grew brighter and in the luster there stood her old grandmother, so bright and radiant, and with love gracing her face.

"Grandmother!" cried Lucy. "Oh, take me with you when you go away! When the match burns out you'll vanish like the warm stove, the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" Making sure to keep her grandmother there, Lucy grabbed all of the matches out of her apron and struck them against the wall.

The matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon. Never before had her grandmother looked so beautiful and so tall. She took Lucy in her arms, and both flew in brightness and joy so high until there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor sadness for they were with God.

Les ran out of his family's apartment on Christmas morning with the new toboggan that his aunt and uncle in Boston sent. David followed, pulling on his coat and running after his little brother. Everything seemed fine when Les suddenly froze and dropped the sled.

"Les, what—" but there was no need to ask. David came up behind his brother and saw a little girl with bare feet, dead matches and a smile on her face.

"She must've froze during the night," David murmured, checking for any sign that she was alive. Les just stayed where he was, staring at her. _Lucy_?

"I-Is she gone?" the younger boy squeaked. David leaned back on his knees, wrapping his arms around him to keep warm.

"Yeah… she's gone," he answered in barely a whisper.

"She wanted to warm herself," Les pointed out, now looking at the blackened matches. Neither had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen or could have dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother, she entered in the joys of Christmas. The little match girl laid curled up in the snow, her cheeks rosy and the most heart-breaking smile rested peacefully on her face.

She was finally home and warm.


End file.
